


Protection

by morwen_of_gondor, Wishfulthinking1979



Series: The Fox and the Lady [4]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: All the main characters are reckless trouble magnets, Angst, Armor, Clone Trooper Culture (Star Wars), Dr. Henley is Wishfulthinking1979's OC, Fanart, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fox sees this and wants to do something about it, Gen, Humor, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, The 501st Adopts People, because we're talking about Fox and Anakin here, but there's also, he may or may not understand that he is ALSO a reckless trouble magnet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26333449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morwen_of_gondor/pseuds/morwen_of_gondor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishfulthinking1979/pseuds/Wishfulthinking1979
Summary: Commander Fox settles in on board the Executor. As he finds his place among her staff and officers, he has a few suggestions for dealing with extremely reckless officers.
Series: The Fox and the Lady [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918327
Comments: 78
Kudos: 98





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> As usual: this is Wishfulthinking1979's fault. If you haven't read _Empire Reimagined_ and Chapter 88 of _Forging Ahead,_ this may not make complete sense.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piett attracts trouble, as usual. Fox has some ideas for mitigating future damage.

Gloved hands pressing down hard on Piett's bleeding shoulder, Fox snaps, "Hurry up!" over his shoulder to the ensign who's desperately rooting through the shuttle's lockers for a medkit. 

"Trying, sir!" the ensign says desperately. "Got it!" 

The kid tosses over a medkit. Fox spares a hand from applying pressure to flick it open and rifle through the contents. Not much, but it has painkillers and bacta patches -- and oh, thank the Force, there's a bacta shot -- altogether, more than enough for now. He's not a medic, not by a long stretch, but he's had plenty of experience trying to keep someone's blood inside their body long enough for the medics to work their magic. 

He slaps the bacta patch over the nasty hole left by a piece of shrapnel and follows it up with the painkiller, then the bacta shot just to be safe. Satisfied that the Admiral is not immediately going to bleed out, he sits back and begins picking bits of shrapnel out of his cuirass. "You know," he says snappily, discarding a particularly large piece (he's going to have bruises tomorrow for sure, and his head is aching, but he's not bleeding and can see straight so he'll do for now), "I'll be the first to say that the GAR had problems, but at least when we sent our officers into live fire zones we gave them armour!"

"Wasn't technically a live fire zone," a voice says near his knees, and he looks down to discover that the Admiral has finally seen fit to rejoin the land of the living. 

"Anything that blows up is a live fire zone," Fox retorts, and follows it up shortly afterwards with, "Oh, no you don't," and a firm hand on the stubborn _di'kut's_ good shoulder as the man tries to sit up again -- not that Fox doesn't admire _mandokarla,_ but there's a time and a place and this is neither. "She's fine," he adds, hoping that news of the Princess' safety will make Piett more inclined to see sense.

"I really am, Admiral dear," says the aforementioned lady, who has evidently freed herself from her brother's ministrations. 

Her injuries were comparatively minor thanks to Piett acting as a living shield, but even Jedi can be put temporarily out of action by a nasty concussion. Then she continues, thoughtfully, "But that's quite a good idea, Commander."

"Beg pardon?" Piett asks, in a slightly dazed voice.

"The armour. If you insist on always going on missions like this, it wouldn't be such a bad thing to have a little insurance against explosions. Your security force can't anticipate everything."

"I do not need armour," Piett says distinctly and carefully.

Fox shakes his head -- there is a difference between _mandokarla_ and _jare'la,_ and Piett is toeing that line in Fox's opinion -- but then takes another look at the man, sees his pale face, and decides there are more important things than discussing the Admiral's reckless behaviour right now. He shifts to allow her highness room to work and watches as she concentrates and the lines of strain disappear from the Admiral's face. Regardless of his relationship with her highness, seeing a _jetii_ at work never fails to amaze, though Fox would rather take another explosion to the face than admit it.

Despite his new position, there is still a part of Fox that does not expect anything to come of his brief annoyed rant. COs, in his experience, don't listen to clones on personal safety. Battle plans, yes. But not safety. At least not when the safety suggestions aren't official. Thus, when he sees Henley and the princess in conversation after the princess has been released from medical, he thinks nothing of it, even though it's a bit unusual for anyone to seek out the acerbic doctor. He doesn't think anything of it when he noticed her talking to her father later that day either. That's not exactly normal but it's not exactly abnormal either, and it's no concern of his who she talks or doesn't talk to anyway.

He does not suspect anything until Princess Leia appeares in front of him (kriffing Jetii stealth) and leads him firmly to a conference room, which is already occupied by Henley and Vad...Skywalker Sr. "So," Skywalker says, "armour."

Fox blinks. The princess listened to that? He quickly sets the thought aside, though. "Even you wore some, sir," he says bluntly. "And the Admiral doesn't have the Force."

"What he does have," Henley put in, "is a remarkable capacity for getting himself -- and others for that matter, but mostly himself -- blown up. And stabbed. And roasted by Sith magic." 

The princess' eyebrows go up at that one. Evidently even she isn't familiar with all of her Admiral's history of injuries. Skywalker puts up his hands defensively and says, "That was not me. I never had anything to do with that sort of thing except to destroy it."

The princess relaxes a fraction, though her expression still promises danger to someone. Padme Amidala probably wore that expression before she decided to go negotiate with Ziro the Hutt alone. She was certainly wearing it by the time Fox and the Guard showed up to find her a hairs-breadth away from being executed.

"Can't say this would stand up to all that, but it's certainly stood me in good stead," Fox says, gesturing to the worn, chipped plastoid which still feels more natural to him than anything else, even if the scraped-up Coruscant Guard paint looks a little out of place now.

"We are in agreement, then," Skywalker says. "The trouble will be getting him to wear it. Veers has tried."

"He succeeded temporarily," the princess puts in.

"Unfortunately that was only once," Henley says. "And he hasn't worn any since."

"If you were to give the order, General, would he listen?" Fox asks.

Skywalker shifts uncomfortably. It's an odd gesture to see in this Skywalker, a motion that had belonged to the twenty-something General Skywalker of the Clone Wars, with whom this scarred, black-clad monolith of a man seems at first glance to share nothing except the piercing blue gaze. "I have no doubt that he would obey me were I to directly order him. I also have no doubt that he would… _creatively interpret_...my orders at the first opportunity."

"So back to square one, then," Fox says tiredly, trying and failing to dispel his headache by force of will. _Dini'la alor'e._

"I'm sure we can think of something," the princess says. "In the meanwhile, I have a holocall with Mon that I really shouldn't miss. Father, Doctor, Commander. If you'll excuse me."

She steps out, leaving the three of them alone in the conference room. "Well," Henley says into the silence, "This is also a medical issue, is it not?"

Fox likes where this is going. "It could be, yes."

"Then I fail to see why all of you are balking at the idea of informing a man who is perhaps 5'7 at best that he, as a senior officer, should exercise common prudence. I will simply tell him that it is required or I will not be clearing him for field duty."

Fox studies the doctor. It seems that he is not the only one on board this ship who's not afraid to speak his mind to the General. Then Henley continues, "Or are you all too intimidated by his _command presence,_ sirs?"

Fox has long practice not bristling when someone makes unpleasant insinuations about him or his men, and, frankly, this is fairly minor, but it still takes a bit of self-control not to rise to the doctor's bait. Dr. Henley seems to have a gift for getting under people's skin remarkably quickly. Still, Henley has a point, though the same problem applies to him as to the General. Fox raises it. "Wouldn't he just creatively interpret that too?"

"I'd like to see him try," Henley begins, but Skywalker interjects, "Perhaps my daughter and General Veers should be called in. Unless, as Commander Fox is head of our security division, he thinks it best to undertake this task by himself."

"I'm not a _jetii,_ sir. I will be happy to work with those who know the Admiral better to get my point across."

Skywalker's blue eyes narrow dangerously, and Fox meets them with his best professional blank stare. Henley rolls his eyes, and breaks into the intense silence once more, saying, "Well if you two are just going to sit there and try to set each other on fire with the Force, I have a medical bay to attend to," and walks out.

"After you, Commander," Skywalker says, a gesture of respect and a challenge in one.

"General," Fox says, nodding, and steps through the door, not even hesitating as he turns his exposed back to the former Jedi. Respect returned -- and challenge met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
>  _di'kut_ \-- idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
>  _mandokarla_ \-- having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue  
>  _jare'la_ \-- stupidly oblivious of danger, asking for it  
>  _dini'la_ \-- insane  
>  _alor_ \-- officer, chief


	2. The Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fox's idea picks up speed, but Admirals are known for their stubbornness. The solution comes from a rather unexpected direction.

General Veers looked up at the knock on his office door, and called out, "Come."

The door opened to admit the princess, who had come bearing caf for him and a mug of Piett's tea for herself. "Princess," he said, giving her a slight smile as she slid the caf over to him. "What can I do for you?"

She took a sip of the tea, and then looked him right in the eye. "I don't want to bring up unfortunate memories," she said, "but how did you get the Admiral to wear armour that time on Mimban?"

Veers blinked. It was a rather unusual question, but not one he minded answering. "I would say I advised him to," he said. "Firmus would say I 'ordered him around like a new recruit'."

"But he hasn't worn any since, as far as I know."

"He's a stubborn bastard," Veers said, smiling again. "What can I say? He prefers his uniform."

The princess stared off into the distance, tea seemingly forgotten. "If I may ask," Veers pressed on, "what brought this on?"

She returned her attention to him. He wondered if she had been talking to her brother via the Skywalker commline. "Commander Fox had an idea after the last mission," she said. "Or rather he had a bit of a fit of temper about how 'when the GAR sent officers into live fire zones we gave them armour' while he was treating the Admiral's shoulder. I don't think he expected anybody to do something about it, but I like the idea. Our Admiral has a bit of a tendency to get himself shot, and it would make a nice change if he didn't wind up in medical after every other mission."

"So you've brought me in to conspire with you?" Veers asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"More or less. I talked to Father and Dr. Henley too, and they agree with me, but we haven't thought of a way to get him to actually wear the stuff. We all agree that our best chance is a serious request from the two of us."

"Count me in, then."

"Good. I'll let you know when we have a plan."

"And tell Commander Fox I like the way he thinks, would you?"

She laughed. "Of course. I thought you'd appreciate the idea."

Lieutenant Ellery sat down beside Captain Kelly at their customary table in the officers' mess. Since Ellery's field promotion, it had been considerably easier to hold meetings of what had unofficially been dubbed the "stubborn COs support group," though Vice Admiral Venka was no longer so regular an attendee since his transfer to the Devastator.

Kelly was looking off into the distance contemplatively, and seemed to have forgotten the half-full glass of whiskey that stood in front of him. Ellery waved the bartender over and asked for his usual beer, and then waited for Kelly to unburden himself of whatever the latest development was. Finally, Kelly seemed to notice Ellery's presence, and saluted him with his glass. "You look like a man with something on his mind, Captain," Ellery said by way of greeting.

"Your newest dirt-pounder has started something, and I'm not sure what it is," Kelly replied.

"You mean Commander Fox?"

"Yes. He's been meeting up with the princess and his lordship and Dr. Henley, and scuttlebutt says that the General's in on it too now."

"What about?" 

"Nobody's completely sure, but I heard from Burns" (Burns was Kelly's XO, and an excellent source of news) "that he was yelling about armour after the Admiral got hit on the last mission."

"Yelling? At the Admiral?"

"About the Admiral, more like. That's what the ensign in the lambda said, anyway. Either we need to start inviting the Commander to these or we need to invite whoever has to deal with him."

"You know, that's not half a bad idea."

"Hmm?" Kelly looked up from his glass again.

"The armour, though maybe we should invite Fox here too. Our Admiral does put himself at risk a fair bit."

"Well, the chief problem, if I had to guess, is that the Admiral doesn't want to wear the stuff."

"Likely enough." Ellery took another drink of his beer and took his own turn looking into the distance. "Pretty sure he did for one mission, but if he won't wear it again, I can't think of a way around it, not if the princess can't."

"So," Kelly said, "what has the General been up to lately?"

"Other than trying to skip out of medbay when his arm was broken? Not much."

Scuttlebutt moves quickly, even, perhaps especially, on a ship the size of the Lady. As a result, Ellery was not terribly surprised when several members of the 501st took him aside as he came off his shift, and the first thing any of them said was, "Is it true?"

He looked up at the four intrigued faces that were gazing intently at him, and saw to his surprise that two of them were the same face. One had a deep v-shaped tattoo over his face and kept his hair almost shaved, in contrast to the man beside him, who seemed intent on keeping his appearance as close as possible to military-perfect. It was the second that Ellery recognised, though he didn't know the man well -- Sergeant-Major Appo, who was rumoured to have taken a demotion to stay with the 501st and had since refused all promotions. The other two men, one of whom had been the first to speak, were considerably younger and looked both at Ellery and at their clone companions with something approaching hero-worship.

"Is what true, son?" Ellery asked.

"That there's a bit of a conspiracy to get the Admiral into armour?"

Ellery didn't bothering asking where they had heard it. The ensign in the shuttle, whatever his name, had clearly been talking, and that sort of rumour spread fast. "Might be," he said noncommittally. "Why do you ask?"

Appo took over. "Some of the boys had the idea of painting it for him, if it's true. The 501st might not work as closely with him as the Herd, but half of them think he's ours anyway."

Ellery had noticed the profusion of blue paint that had been spreading over the 501st's white armour ever since they had officially defected from the Empire, but it had never been his business to ask. Now, however, an idea struck him. "That might just be the idea we need. I'll talk to the General about it."

The two boys, whose rank plaques marked them as corporals, looked curious, but Appo shot them a quelling look and they subsided. "We'd be grateful for that, sir," said the tattooed clone, speaking for the first time, though his eyes had not left Ellery's face for some time. "Good COs are hard to come by."

Appo clapped him briefly on the shoulder, said "Come on, Dogma," saluted Ellery, and strode off, the other three trailing in his wake. 

Ellery wondered what the other clone -- Dogma, evidently -- had meant by that, but the 501st wasn't his primary concern and Appo seemed to have things under control. He went to seek out General Veers.

He found the General with Commander Fox, looking over the briefing for their next off-planet mission and examining building schematics, and explained what the 501st had offered to do. Fox's eyes widened a little when he heard the name Appo, but that was nothing compared to the expression he made when he heard what Appo's suggestion had been. Ellery had never seen the man give a single visible show of emotion, but now his face was slack in astonishment. Ellery looked to him in concern, and the usual unreadable mask descended over his features, but not before Veers had noticed. "What is it, Commander?" he asked.

"Appo's a clone, isn't he?" Fox said in reply.

"Yes. So was one of the others -- Dogma. What about it?"

Fox raised both his eyebrows in surprise. "The Admiral had damn well better take them up on it. That offer is the highest compliment they could possibly pay a natborn officer."

"How so?" Veers looked intrigued.

"In the GAR, our armour was the closest thing we had to personal possessions. And so we painted it, because that made us different from our brothers. Made us look like people, not meat-droids. A brother came into the army a shiny, with clean new armour -- no scars, no paint. First thing he'd do after getting assigned to a battalion was paint it. Offering to do that for a natborn -- that's almost as good as the _gai bal manda._ They're saying he's one of them. A brother. Somebody who'll have their backs no matter what. The only other natborn I've heard of being adopted like that was General Koon."

"Well," Veers said, in a slightly thicker voice than before, "I'm not completely surprised. Piett has that way with people. Half the Herd was ready to die for him five minutes after they met him."

"If I'm right, there's more," Fox replied, with a little smirk. "Dogma? Had a v-shaped tattoo in the middle of his face, right?"

"Yes," Ellery answered, unclear on where the conversation was going.

"Kriffing hells." Fox shook his head in wonder. "Dogma was on Umbara."

Then, seeing their blank looks, he paused, and resumed speaking more slowly. "What I'm about to say does not leave this room. It's the 501st's story to tell. I don't know the whole story anyway; don't think anybody alive does, except maybe Dogma now, but their Jedi, Krell, betrayed them. Set them up to kill their brothers. Dogma...Dogma executed him. Did the right thing if you ask me. Rex and Skywalker called me up to make sure he didn't get sent back to Kamino for reconditioning. We managed to get him a prison sentence instead."

"Reconditioning?" Ellery asked, not liking the way Fox had spat the word.

"Mind wipe," Fox said shortly. "Point being, he went out of his way to be one of the ones to ask to do this for Admiral Piett. If you take them up on it -- and you should, because turning it down would be unbelievably insulting -- he'd better wear the stuff."

"If I explain half of that to him, he will," Veers said. "And that incidentally solves the problem of how to convince him to wear it and keep wearing it."

Fox looked him in the eyes, and Veers had the sense of being weighed in the balance. Fox must have been satisfied by what he saw, because, with a curt, "Good," he turned back to examining the blueprints.

Ellery and Veers looked at each other in mutual surprise, then shrugged. "Dismissed," Veers said, and Ellery turned on his heel and strode out of the office. It was nice to know that he had a new ally in looking after the stubborn officers. Perhaps it really was time to invite Fox to the support group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know Appo supposedly died at the Jedi Temple. I'm going to say he got knocked out by that shot, because there's a tremendous shortage of named clones who made it through the war. Also nobody ever said Dogma died, so I've brought him back to the 501st for the same reason.
> 
> Mando'a:  
>  _gai bal manda_ translates to "name and soul," and means the Mandalorian adoption ritual.


	3. Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conspirators spring their trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter but there's art at the end to make up for it.
> 
> Edit: There was supposed to be art, but the HTML insertion did not like me. I can see the art but nobody else can. I am working on getting this resolved. I may put up a temporary update when I get it working. IF I get it working, that is.
> 
> Edit on the edit: I believe that I have now fixed the art. Do please let me know if you still can't see it.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Lord Vader took an unusual interest in the inner workings of the Lady. Not that he was not always aware, as he was so fond of telling people, of what was going on on board, but he usually did not feel compelled to approve requisition forms personally, or to prevent Admiral Piett from seeing them, as he was twice seen to be doing by various members of his staff.

General Veers showed a rather similar odd streak, engaging in some rather cloak-and-dagger antics in order to prevent the Admiral from noticing a particular crate, destined for use by the 501st, from coming to the Admiral's notice as he oversaw the transfer of supplies to the Lady's cargo bay.

Once, the two of them were observed to be having a rather animated discussion in the senior officers' conference room, of which the only audible words were "You were tranqued twice when we were dealing with that Nilo character, sir, I don't see why we shouldn't put in a form for you while we're at it."

His lordship's response was mostly inaudible, but contained the word "Force" and sounded rather put out, and so Burns' informant had chosen to vacate the room rather than risk discovery, and thus nobody knew what the discussion had actually been about. There was speculation that perhaps someone wanted revenge for Lord Vader's pink mouse droid prank, but as Vader himself was evidently part of the plot this made very little sense. Burns was genuinely baffled, and Lieutenant Ellery was, for once, proving very unhelpful when it came to rumours about the 501st, having done nothing but smile into his mug of beer when asked for clarification.

Admiral Piett was not oblivious to Lord Vader and General Veers' simultaneous attacks of odd behaviour, but as they had both acted quite normal during the previous day's mission briefing, he was beginning to hope that whatever it was they had been so secretive about had blown over on its own. Then he opened the door to his quarters to see six troopers whose uniforms identified them as part of the 501st standing nervously around a moderately large crate, and realised that the apparent return to normality had merely been proof that the plot, whatever it was, had been fully set in motion.

"Gentlemen," he asked crisply, "what exactly is going on here?"

"This is for you, sir," one of them said, a clone whose insignia marked him as a Sergeant-Major. "Body armour. Green, blue, and brown on a black ground."

"I beg your pardon?" The three sentences did not make very much sense when you put them together.

"Duty, the 501st, valour, and justice, sir. They're the colours we picked for you."

Piett could feel that damned flush creeping up his neck at those words. He opened his mouth and found that his voice was not working properly. Clearing his throat, he bent over to open the crate rather than say something, and was shocked at what he found. The armour resembled the heavy Imperial-issue cuirasses less than Mandalorian beskar'gam, and had clearly been painted by hand in an elaborate design which included his Fleet Admiral's epaulettes, as well as other designs he could not immediately identify. He cleared his throat again and managed to make his voice work this time. "The troops made this...for me?"

"Yes, sir!" the six men rapped out in unison. 

Piett got to his feet, the crate in his hands, and forced out a quiet, "Thank you, men," around the lump in his throat.

When he boarded the shuttle, decked out in separated durasteel plates that fitted him shockingly well and allowed a good deal more flexibility than he would ever have expected -- not to mention that they were also remarkably light -- he pointedly did not respond to the smug looks exchanged by Veers and Fox.

Author's note: Below is a picture of more or less what Piett found in the crate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter 72 of _Forging Ahead_ for the pink mouse droid incident.
> 
> For those of you wondering about the design of Piett's armour: the brown design on the chest is a pair of jaig eyes, a Mandalorian symbol used to indicate extreme bravery. The bars on the shoulders are, as mentioned in the story, an homage to a Fleet Admiral's uniform.


	4. The Conspiracy Spreads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 501st has been given an inch. Knowing them, it was only a matter of time before they took a mile.

Never let it be said of the 501st that they were slow to take up new ideas. Admiral Piett was soon sighted multiple times wearing his new armour -- once, even, on the bridge, when they had come a little closer than usual to Imperial space. Rumour had it that he had proudly showed it to the princess, and that she had approved. That was, to the _vod'e,_ as much of a seal of approval as they needed. Admiral Piett was not the only _di'kutla kotep alor_ who needed armour on the ship, and they had just discovered multiple allies among the brass.

It was not long before there were two separate conspiracies up and running. One had the full knowledge and assistance of Admiral Piett, General Veers, and Commander Fox, and so it came to fruition quite rapidly. The other was the business of the _vod'e_ and the _vod'e_ only, and would remain such.

The results of the first conspiracy were unveiled first, as Lord Vader, or General Skywalker, depending on which army you belonged to, stepped out of his quarters, dressed in his customary black, to discover a welcoming committee made up of the three aforementioned officers, plus his son and Sergeant-Major Appo, standing around a crate looking determined.

"Gentlemen," he said warningly, as their faces all bore the expressions of men who had decided to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

"We brought something for you, Father," Luke said cheerfully, and added over their bond, _Hear us out first, please. This means a lot to your men._

 _All right,_ Anakin sent back, a trifle shortly, and said aloud, "Well?"

General Veers took over from Luke. "You know that the men in the 501st painted armour for Piett," he said. "Commander Fox says that's nearly as good as adopting him."

"It is," Fox said, and Piett flushed faintly and looked uncomfortable. 

Veers clapped him on the shoulder and continued, "It seems he's not the only one they want to adopt. The fact that one of those others just so happens to be, in Dr. Henley's words, 'the stubbornest of this lot of stubborn self-sacrificial idiots,' is just an added benefit."

"I understand," Piett added, "that to not accept the gift is to reject the intent of the painters."

"It is," Appo confirmed, looking even more uncomfortable than Piett.

Wordlessly, Anakin bent over to open the crate, and looked in the contents in shock. He had expected skilled craftsmanship, as he had seen the care that had gone into Piett's armour, but this was something else. The body of the armour was a light silver-grey edged with black and blue and a deeper grey. The shoulders were the same grey, edged with yellow and black and blue, except for the right pauldron, which was black and bore the symbol of the Jedi Order in the same silver. Anakin reached out and brushed it gently with his fingers. _I have no right to wear this,_ he thought mournfully.

He had not meant for Luke to hear, but his son answered anyway, _Hear them out first. You might change your mind._

Over his head, Fox and Appo had been exchanging increasingly meaningful glances, and now Appo began to explain. "Silver is for seeking redemption, sir. Blue is for the 501st. Grey," and Anakin realised that the abstract grey design on the left chestpiece was the crest of the Royal House of Naboo, "is for mourning lost love. Black is for justice. Yellow is for remembrance."

 _Seeking redemption for the Jedi Order. Mourning Padmé Amidala. Hoping for justice. Remembering the past. Serving beside the 501st -- a constant in his life, one of the few. And one strange angular design on the pauldron in blue._

Anakin held up the left pauldron inquiringly, and Luke grinned brightly. "That's the… _Al'Can'Gal?_ Did I pronounce that right?"

Appo nodded, and Luke added, "It's the sigil for a combat pilot."

Slowly, Anakin got to his feet, picking up the crate. Appo looked hopeful, and Luke's grin grew impossibly brighter. "I will wear it," Anakin said. _Thank you,_ he couldn't say, but from the way the Force rippled with pleasure around all five men, he thought they heard it anyway.

Sitting down inside his quarters, he traced his durasteel fingers gently over the graceful, arching crest that his wife had borne so well, and bowed his head. To wear this would be to wear both his family and his penance. It was fitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
>  _kotep_ = brave


	5. A History in Plastoid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third and final conspiracy's effects become known. Takes place after _We Fight for Those Who Can't_ by Wishfulthinking1979.

In the barracks that belonged to the 501st, there were certain rooms which new troopers (shinies, as they found themselves called) learned not to enter lightly, even if they nominally belonged to no one. Not because the usual occupants were rude or even displeased at such intrusions, but because they belonged, by an ancient and unspoken system of ownership, to the _vod'e_ and their close associates, and new recruits held the battle-scarred remainders of the Grand Army of the Republic in considerable awe. To be invited into the rooms belonging to the _vod'e_ was a high honour indeed, granted on a case-by-case basis, the more so if you were not a member of the 501st. Nevertheless, it was in one such sacred room that Lieutenant Ellery was sitting at the beginning of the night cycle, a few weeks after the successful rescue mission from Eriadu*, sans uniform jacket and hat, with a piece of durasteel-reinforced plastoid balanced on his knee and a paintbrush gripped carefully in his large hand.

The broad-shouldered Lieutenant made one of a rather motley group, which also included several clones in half-armour, once-identical faces now made different by enough wear and tear for several lifetimes, and one young naval lieutenant, each equipped with a paintbrush, at least one pot of paint, and a piece of armour. A piece of flimsi, set on the table nearby, indicated the design they were working together to bring to fruition. For the most part, they worked in silence, except for requests to pass the paint, or the occasional reshuffling of pieces from one hand to another for some specific finishing touch. From the state of the armour -- nearly covered in elaborately designed, overlapping layers of paint -- it was evident that this was not the first meeting of the silent little group. 

The next morning, Commander Fox woke at his customarily early hour, and stepped out of his door, just as Anakin had some weeks before, to find himself with a reception committee. Commander Appo of the 501st -- Fox still thought of him as such, even though he had taken a considerable demotion under the Empire -- was flanked by Dogma on the one hand, and a nervous Lieutenant Scraps, who was wearing a freshly pressed uniform, on the other. Lieutenant Ellery loomed large in the background. Set on the floor before them was an unmistakable armour crate. Fox gave them one of the looks he had patented as commander of the Coruscant Guard, one that was a few steps below an outright glare, but still warned of personal danger to anyone who did not explain himself quickly. 

Rather than saying anything, Appo turned a look of his own to Scraps, who made a little movement of his hands as though to tug on the hem of his uniform jacket, then checked it, to Fox's mild approval, and opened the crate.

The armour inside is a blaze of colours. It's clearly Phase II GAR-issue, or something very similar, and Fox has no idea where they had found it, but that fact is boxed neatly up and stored away for later as the colours burn their meanings into his mind. Blue swirls climb up the gauntlets and greaves like the hottest of fires, mingled with silver and black in what looks like wisps of smoke. Higher up, as the paint climbs to the pauldrons and cuirass, the colour of the swirling flames changes to yellow and gold and deep scarlet-red. Even the _kama_ has been painstakingly painted to match. In the centre of the chest, the _kar'ta beskar_ shines out in blue against the red, flanked by gold rawl fangs.

Blue for the 501st, for reliability, touched with the colours of justice and redemption, and set at the heart of the armour. It's as impertinent as it is brotherly, and he knows they know that. The 501st at his heart, offering justice and atonement. Scarlet for the Coruscant Guard and defiance, mingled with remembrance and vengeance, oh, yes, they know him. The _kar'ta beskar_ is undeserved -- he's a _vod'kyramud,_ would be _dar'manda_ if he'd ever had a soul -- but this is the 501st, and they've owned Darth Vader as theirs, so why would they balk at him?

On the right pauldon, where his old armour once bore the symbol of the old Republic Senate -- once, before he'd wiped it as clean as his mind under the Empire -- the New Republic crest catches the light, in pure scarlet. And last, there are the rawl fangs, the mark of he who fights by _hodayc_ and _hodasal_ and _jehavey'ir,_ who stands calmly before the rawl, unmoving so that it cannot see him, and seizes it by the head when it strikes, that he may take its fangs and its venom. Who risks that venom taking him, so that it will not take his _vod'e_.

_Haar'chak._ He's been staring at the armour for at least half a minute, robbed of speech and movement both. The men are staring at him, waiting for the explosion or...or something else. His throat is tight, and if he were to try to speak he's sure his voice would break. _Osik. Kriff. Haran. Gar shu'shuk, Fox._

He bends over, picks up the crate, and carries it inside his quarters. As the door shuts, he sees the silent welcoming committee still standing outside. Perhaps he should dismiss them.

He won't. He couldn't face them. Something tells them that they know that.

Still. New armour -- and a closer inspection reveals durasteel reinforcements in crucial areas -- is practical. He strips out of the old, battered plastoid that had seen him through half the Clone War and the whole galaxy of threats he'd faced as a bounty hunter, and sets it aside, almost reverently. Then, slowly, carefully, he dons the new set. It fits him perfectly, but when he catches a glimpse of himself in the small mirror he uses for shaving, he hardly recognises the man he sees. The man who wears that armour should burn to match it, a fire to warm the night, a protection to his _vod'e_.

Or is it the other way round? Is it the _vod'e_ who burn bright to protect the man whose armour they have so lovingly crafted?

"Get. A. Grip." he snarls hoarsely at his brilliantly gleaming reflection. That's enough sentiment for one day -- far more than enough.

But he keeps the armour on as he marches out the door and towards his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *See _We Fight for Those Who Can't_.
> 
> I do intend to make art of Fox's armour, but because his is modified Phase 2 armour from the GAR, rather than Mandalorian, I've first got to track down an appropriate reference screencap, so it may be a while. I'll post it in its own chapter when I'm done.
> 
> Rawl fangs are a canon armour adornment, but to the best of my knowledge nobody knows exactly what they mean, so I made up the meaning used in this fic, since rawls are basically snakes.
> 
> The prevalence of fire imagery on Fox's armour is partially inspired by some armour designs in Meridanpony's fic _Dominoes,_ though it is also very much its own thing.
> 
> Mando'a translations:  
>  _kama_ = a belt-spat; that skirt thing Captain Rex wears. It's intended to, among other things, protect the wearer's legs from the downdraft of a jetpack.  
>  _kar'ta beskar_ = iron heart, the design that's central to all Mando armour we've seen so far.  
>  _vod'kyramud_ = brother-killer  
>  _dar'manda_ = soulless, no longer Mandalorian, damned in the most literal sense of the word  
>  _hodayc_ = cunning  
>  _hodasal_ = camouflage  
>  _jehavey'ir_ = ambush  
>  _haar'chak_ = damn it  
>  _Osik. Haran. Gar shu'shuk, Fox._ = "Shit. Hell. You're a disaster, Fox."


End file.
